


Christmas With Oscar

by GhostScript



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Elementary - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, The Past, The holiday spirit?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:58:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostScript/pseuds/GhostScript
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ok, so I couldn't help myself.<br/>I may be the only person who feels like Oscar meant well, at some point... I dunno. Maybe Sherlock shoulda been nicer to him and he might have gotten clean and never abducted Alfredo. Anyway, people seemed confused at his 'obsession' with Sherlock and I thought maybe this would help paint a clearer picture.<br/>It's based on a memory mentioned by Oscar in the season 3 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas With Oscar

It was Christmas Eve, which usually meant very little to Oscar, other than the fact that it is a good time for nabbing wallets or the occasional purse because people got stupid around the “most wonderful time of the year,” and desperate, and they needed a lot of fast green at the ready to buy their kids that toy they forgot about months before. Despite that, it, or winter in general, was not that great for junkies. Copping in New York in the winter was freezing cold and cruel. The wait feels even longer, and your toes and fingertips disappear, and all the snot coming out of your nose turns into icicles that burn when you wipe them away.  
He always liked spending Christmas day with his sister Olivia though, even if they were both dope sick and yelling at each other. It was still family, they still had each other.  
This Christmas would be different, he could feel it in his bones. He had a spring in his step.  
It was cold as fuck, sure, but Sherlock and him had made a good bit of money scamming some wannabe hardass. They conned him so good that he didn’t even know he’d got the short end of the stick on the deal, with only a truck full of busted laptops in lieu of the cash payout.  
Oscar smiled to himself when he thought about Sherlock and what a great team they made. He was so smart, and so good at working all the angles and coming up with plans. He was the brains, and Oscar was the leg man with all the connections.  
He laughed too, at the fact that this year HIS wallet was the one full of cash, and ripe for the snatching. He held onto it as tight as he could until he got clear across East Houston, to see his friend Tony to score.  
He bought ten bags in total, enough to stay inside for a couple days and stay warm, then cut through to the needle exchange to get some fresh works, and the bodega nearby for a bottle of cheap wine and a couple sandwiches because ‘what the fuck,’ he thought, ‘it’s the holiday spirit.’  
When he got to the counter to pay he saw a plastic display of all these little keychain clip teddy bears, about the size of a dollar. They were all different colors and had little checkered bowties. A couple had ‘I <3 NY’ stitched onto their bellies.  
He put the wine and food on the counter and grabbed the happiest looking bear and threw that onto the pile “This guy too.”  
The cashier gave him the side eye, but rang him up anyway.  
Oscar felt irritated at being judged, but it quickly turned to shame when he realized he might have… well, probably HAD stolen a couple cartons of cigarettes from the same exact bodega a week prior.  
He scrunched his face and tried to look different, avoiding any further eye contact.  
“Thanks.”  
He got his change, and put the bear in his pocket for safe keeping. He didn’t want it to get slimey from the mayo in the sandwiches or crushed by the bottle. 

Olivia was at the diner where she sometimes worked. She’d been doing real good for herself, too. Things were looking up for the Rankins, he thought.  
When he arrived she was on her dinner break and picking at a huge burger and glistening golden fries.  
“Hey Liv.”  
She looked up, enjoying a long sip of soda.  
“What’s up Oscar? I didn’t think I’d see you til tomorrow. You want somethin’ to eat? Fatty in the kitchen can probably be convinced to cook you something on the D-L, if I ask nicely.”  
“Nah, that’s ok. I can’t stay long.”  
He hovered a little over the table for a minute, then sat down on the cushioned booth seat, sliding over to be parallel with her.  
“Hey, Liv, I know you are staying at your boyfriend’s tonight so I’m gonna give you your present early, close your eyes.”  
Olivia did, and Oscar gently grabbed her hands and laid the palm side up on the table, before retrieving the stuffed bear from his coat pocket and nestling it into her cradled grasp.  
She opened her eyes and looked down, grinning as she gave it a proper and delighted examination. “Oh my god! It’s adorable!”  
“I felt kinda like… whats his name? Scrooge McDuck or something. Paying for everything, you know? No one expects me to.”  
She adjusted the little bow tie and laughed, darting her eyes from him to her new bear.  
“You’re a good brother Oscar, I mean it. I like it when you’re happy… and I love my friend!”  
Olivia squeezed the toy to her face, and told him she was gonna name it Grouch, after ‘Oscar the.’  
He smiled wide in his success. She offered him some of her soda but he nabbed a fistful of her French fries instead, and with a mouthful said “Oh yeah, I almost forgot,”  
Oscar swallowed the mass of potato, then licked the grease off his fingertips before discreetly placing two bags of dope into her free hand.  
“Gotta take care of my kid sister.”  
She kissed his cheek before stuffing her gifts into her backpacks front pocket. “Merry Christmas.”  
“So what are you up to tonight?” she asked him, pointing the end of a wobbly fry in his direction.  
“Gonna check in with my buddy Sherlock. You know the one I told you about. He said he wanted to be alone but I’m a little worried about him, y’know? He seemed pretty down.”

When he got to the door of Sherlock’s brownstone he knocked, loudly, then called out as he normally did, but there wasn’t an answer.  
He tried the doorknob and it was unlocked, which was weird for Sherlock but not unimaginable, and he let himself in.  
“Hey Sherlock, where are you?”  
He thought he heard something from downstairs, something muffled and whimpering.  
It wasn’t the last thing he expected to see, but it was still jarring- Sherlock was crumpled into a ball on the floor, sweating and clenched, sobbing, and muttering again about his ex girlfriend Irene.  
She was the ultimate sore subject. He had tried to tell him that there were other fish in the sea, or birds in the sky, or whatever, but he would just say she was “the woman,” and leave it at that.  
He looked rough, and when Oscar scanned the room he noticed Sherlock had shot what supposed to be his nights supply the night before, and there was broken glass around but he didn't know from what.  
“What the hell are you trying to do, buddy? You wanna kick cold turkey in the middle of a fucking blizzard?”  
“Irene…”  
He looked so sad, those eyes. Oscar thought he had old sad eyes like one of those old paintings that hung in the museums. ‘A celebrated misery,’ which sounded like something Sherlock would say so he was proud he had come up with it himself.  
He knew he wasn’t as dumb as everyone liked to think. Sherlock knew too, deep down, he could tell. Even if he had a short temper.  
Oscar knelt down beside him, brushing the hair back from his temple. It seemed to sooth him a little, but he was wound tighter than a thread spool.  
“You are real sick, huh?”  
Oscar sighed audibly, and slumped down too, pulling Sherlock’s head and shoulders into his lap, gently rocking him “Alright buddy, I’m gonna take care of you, I’m gonna get you well. Just calm down.”  
“Irene…” He sobbed again, releasing some of the tension in his back. Oscar’s words were getting though.  
“Not here, I don’t want to be here…”  
“Not here, Sherlock? You don’t wanna just fix here?”  
“This is my father’s house.”  
“Yeah, but you hate your dad.”  
Sherlock turned to look at him, pleading, “I need to get away from him.”  
“Alright, I know just the place. Come on.”

They didn’t have to walk far, his junkie den home away from home was only a few blocks away, near where they’d first met. Sherlock hadn’t been in the city long, he was strung out and the nickel and dimed bags of tar he was managing to find weren’t nearly enough for his habit.  
Oscar had been his guardian angel that day, just like he was this time- at least to them, in the moment.  
Oscar moved the piece of plywood out of the way, exposing the gap in the chain link fence for them to climb through, and led them down an alley way to a short metal scaffolding and an abandoned brick duplex.  
He helped him up and in through the window. Most of the inhabitants were already passed out, but candles burned bright enough to welcome them.  
All the tables were littered with tiny scraps of paper and charred spoons and bottle caps, cups full of dirty needles and water. The air smelled strong of vinegar, and cigarettes, and it felt thick and clung to their throats.  
At the end of the hall were a few bedrooms; in one of those rooms was the corner designated for Oscar, where he had a little foam mattress set up with a couple blankets and a desk drawer as a table.  
He helped Sherlock take off his coat, and then his gloves and scarf and sat him down against the wall. His face dripped like a faucet so Oscar handed him an old tshirt from the floor to clean himself up while he got busy cooking up their hits.  
“You like this place, Sherlock?”  
Sherlock scooted himself closer to the flame, and the bubbling dope, in anticipation. “Anything was better than there.”  
Oscar tied him off, rubbing his inner arm vigorously until he found a good spot. He watched Sherlock’s face change from a furrowed brow and bleak frown to one of complete ease. He even smiled, with his mouth slightly open, as the heroin closed his eyes and calmed his spirits.  
“Oscar…” He slurred, “Thank you.”  
“Of course Buddy. What are friends for? Merry Christmas.”


End file.
